The day they operated on his brain
he imagined it as his day of poetry
freedom from the pain of living,
and heard a train reciting a long poem
on love, nightmares and death
by a Chilean poet he adored,
whose name he tried to recollect, over and over again
but his train of thoughts curiously missed
that one station in each, separate attempt.
Did he hear anyone whispering anything about 'bad omen'?
reminding a poet killed by a dose of poison
injected by the doctor treating him
to end the emotional domination of
his poetry over the mind of millions
- and then he slowly lost orientation
in delirious state he fell in to a pit of delight and thought
about the white luminant mist poetry, has created in his being,
all through the days of suffering love gifted him.
He received poetry as a feeling, deep, deep inside,
Emily Dickinson was to him a fragrance enveloping his consciousness,
then a feeling inexpressible, an elation, leading him to a plane higher.
His brain was a night filled tunnel, through which
the train reciting dark poems of stark beauty of death
traveled like lightening, he sat perplexed looking
at a mirror someone held before him, reflecting darkness, an eerie feeling.
That night train wailing as if someone dear has left for ever
traveled through the surreal plane of Dali paintings.
"Life", a unfamiliar voice proclaimed aloud near him,
"Is poetry written in one's blood, which one fails
to read as it is dangerously close to one's suicide note,
that one finishes reading only at the last minute".He hoped
they must have finished his surgery by now;
it was getting dark, a kind of mist spreading like a swarm of evil beetles,
but they were still at it, panic reigned
on the operation table. His face was peaceful
immobile like the wings of a dead butterfly.
Shhh! Stand just right here
This is a special kaleidoscope
In which I want you to peer
Hold deep your breath for a moment
and then let it out
As you look through the window
and see what magic is about
Within the refractive hallway
So glitzy and glamorous
Is the most amazing subatomic particle
Known affectionately as the rare Bs Meson
between an anti quark and a quark
Let's watch the kaleidoscope do its work
As it spins slowly in time
And the particle decays with its age line
Now here is what gets really neat
The Bs begins morphing
Quarks into smaller quarks
Heavier to lighter to more and energy
Following the laws of physics naturally
As the greater mass decays, paves the way
For muons to be
Comparable to electrons
And as the kaleidoscope keeps spinning
And the eyes watch and see
The Standard Model theory
A scientific approach to creating
On the corner of 8th and Fleet
A man plays a drum with a funky beat
He uses two thigh bones as sticks in his hands
And aspires to play in the coolest bands.
He beats on a drum made of flesh and bone
And boy, let me tell you, I swear it moans
It cries out to other goblins and ghouls
And pleases the zombies leaving their schools.
This man is a mummy, no pun intended
Through all of his bindings he smiles so splendid
And plays until morning without any sleep
And he never seems to miss a beat.
The coolings of music and things such as that
Then out of the blue walked a single vampire
“You, my good pharaoh, are up for hire.”
He picked up his drum and his sticks and his hope
And followed the man to a bar called The Rope
And walked into chaos and fire and soul
Except for the dull and dumb-witted trolls
“Get on that stage and give us a beat
On top of all this, I'll give you a treat.
Instead of this run down and dirty old drum
Sit down to MY drum set and have some fun!”
The mummy was shocked and slightly unrest
But he promised and hoped that he'd do his best
He got on the stage and the lights came down
And he thought, with his talent, he'd go to town.
All he could see was his certain doom
The crowd was mad, a troll threw a bottle
The mummy high-tailed it out at full-throttle
What was he thinking, he abandoned his heart
And lost his drum made with his own body parts
And alone he was, no hope and no drive
He had to find something more fun to survive.
He tried to become a family physician
But he knew this wasn't the right position
He refused and argued he'd never give up...
His bandages for anyone's nasty cuts.
He joined the circus for almost a day
But again, he knew, this wasn't the way
They unbound his bindings but he never spoke
Until they used him as the tight-rope.
So alone he walked, bitter and sour
Back to his home in the Haunted Tower
The town turned gray from the lack of spice
With nothing to do this would have to suffice.
“Poor drumming mummy, he offered such joy
When he banged and played on his favorite toy.”
“If only I knew where this mummy would be
I'd give him my bones and my flesh for free!”
Surprisingly this conversation transpired
Outside the place that the mummy retired
He heard everything that was said by the man
And he carefully formulated a plan.
He distracted the other and grabbed a big knife
He decided he'd end this wise man's life
He crept up behind him and whispered a, “Thank you
I hope you don't mind 'cause I'm going to shank you.”
The knife plunged deep with a raging fire
And to his surprise he just killed that vampire!
He laughed with a howl that scared the beast
That was running away down the street.
“Irony tastes like the finest wine.”
The mummy had very little time
He carved up the vamp and took what he needed
And to the heavens he calmly pleaded.
“My torment has turned me completely numb
But I promise I'll make a better drum!”
It only took minutes and was finally done
When, behind the horizon, fell the sun.
He set-up his station at his usual spot
Right next to an empty parking lot
He closed his eyes and picked up his sticks
And pleased the masses with his tricks.
The sound was as cold as the soulless vampire
But raged with a hot and terrible fire
Everyone cheered and screamed and howled
The mummy has bared a magnificent child
“Your drum, however, seems not the same
Does this new drum even have a name?”
“You better believe it,” said the pharaoh
“I think I'll call it the Ugly Sparrow.”
And with that he played for days and days
And played the music the people crazed
And forever and more he sat with his thought
And never again left this spot.
He turned down all offers and turned away work
And people called him a mindless jerk
“That's just the thing, to have all the fun
You can't have a brain while playing the drums.”
We'd been walking for an age,
Stone by passing stone
We passed ever onward,
Towards our end
Here will do, came the call,
It brimmed with confidence
But it came from, God knows who.
The shadows shift to greet the day,
The shovels drift through seas of waste.
We've struggled here, me and you.
Now fight the earth, and raise this tomb.
But who is speaking?
Where from do they call?
Why was I beckoned here?
Am I really here at all?
Its all so facile!
A predictable jaunt!
It was all called from day one,
Now there's just the motions to evoke.
The dirt brushed steel finds the reaches of the deep
You'd seek to sleep, had you earned your rest
Yet among cartoon images and plastic sets
I think you'll find, you were at your best
To the dark, to the dark,
You stride with beaming smile into the reach
As if to deprive, yet no one would ever seek
Why scrawl in a corner, what do you hope to yield?
Listen now boy, the dirt is all there is
Bow your head and conceal your task
We'll hit rock bottom and you'll sleep at last.
How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated fuck ups and fucked withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new opiate it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels
As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...
Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories
He looked me in the eyes
The other summer night
And told me of the abominations men of the world
Impose on women of the world
As if I didn't know them.
As if I weren't the virgin
That time had fucked so,
So fucking many times.
He told me I would never find a man
Who would treat me better than he.
But I found my hero
Without having to run away with Proud Mary.
And I may have found him
A midst empty days
And a longing to fill a chasm I found deep within myself,
But I found him nonetheless.
And as I sit here,
Awake for days and
I hear his words echo
Like back blows
To the lungs of a Cystic Fibrosis patient.
He told me men on Craigslist
Look for women to fuck
And women call their vaginas "oceans"
To try to pick up men.
But my love wants only a partner
To participate in a round of Super Smash Bros. with.
you tell yourself,
driving the sweet, sharp blade into your skin,
you open it, and you feel the beautiful pinch it brings,
the deeper you go, the more relief you feel.
You crave to go deeper, and see how deep you can go,
and nothing is deep enough,
you press firmly,
so deep, that it didn't even bleed.
You love how they look,
so deep, open so the sides don't touch. Beautiful. Perfect.
You're so excited for them to scar,
and you cannot wait to make more, to go deeper.
You know exactly where and how deep you want, need to go...
You become an expert on your body as you slowly destroy it.
I am going in for another round or two
Come February I will be
romancing giant textbooks
I am going to have my balls deep in academia again
There's a new postgraduate student in town!
In a way this is part of my master plan to defer the reality of being thrust into the hideous job market
My relentless fruitless search for employment has left me disheartened and somewhat regretful
Though at the very end of the day I am proud of my accomplishment
I did it for me
What isn't immediately forthcoming is no reason for me to forget why I embarked on this quest for education
And why I held on
It is something no one can take away from me
The satisfaction of feeding your brain with knowledge is some kind of high
This is of course debatable
Perhaps I hide behind these books
As if they offer me fortification
Not letting anyone in
An ice queen of note
but you can't cuddle 2 degrees
And you cannot share a meal with either
For things to fall into place I am going to be needing a rather potent antidote for my general lameness.
Treatise on Cosmic Fire
I sky dive thru my skydrive
picking up pieces of forget-me-nots
holding on to hallucinations
and keep coming back for more
when I arrive I feel alive
ready for anything thrown my way
pretty lady sings the blues
handing saucy notes out the door
she asks me can you handle the pain
of my screaming heart in your ear
if you don't understand the question
please let me make it completely plain
there's a fire burning so damn deep
it is cosmic in it's nature
from the hell of the bang
melting my heart with each quarter note
riding on a tall ship or a longboat
but she keeps on trying
ask her again if love is the answer
she whispers if you believe that
then you just might lose me
but you must keep trying
I will ask you to stay
It’s funny how looking at a picture of you,
from so long since looking into your eyes,
I can still remember every breath caught, every moment of each second lived,
every silver touch standing in your eyes, like being seen for the first time,
until you saw too much too deep too fast,
and you blinked and I was gone.
Gone from your thoughts and your life and your love,
moved to another, more worthy,
upon whom you look longer, stand taller, gaze deeper
than I can ever hope to be.